


Sharp

by anorchidisnotaflower



Series: When All Else Fails [3]
Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anorchidisnotaflower/pseuds/anorchidisnotaflower
Summary: "'Let’s go somewhere,' Tyler says."In which the Narrator and Tyler vandalize.





	Sharp

“Let’s go somewhere,” Tyler says.

I ask him where, already knowing the answer. Our outings, when we manage to drag ourselves from bed, are always in the same vein, the same road trodden over like some twisted Frost poem.

“I want to destroy something,” he replies.

Without speaking, he throws on that red leather jacket, and I follow, shirt partially unbuttoned and hands itching. 

He skips down the stairwell like he’s rushing to get somewhere and leaves me straggling behind. His gait is much more suited to swaggering and sprinting, whereas mine is built for sitting in office chairs and lying in insomnia-induced curves.

I spot him wandering into an alleyway a few blocks ahead and I run to catch up. Turning the corner, I see him digging into a dumpster before pulling out a splintered baseball bat and a golf club shaped like an "L." 

I don’t know how he finds these things.

As ever, he smirks in response. No thought escapes his attention (but, then again, neither do his escape mine).

“A good eye and a willingness to get dirty,” he answers. He hefts the bat in his hand, then tosses the twisted golf club to me. “That’s yours.”

I look at it, unimpressed. Not much good for vandalism, is it, I tell him.

He shrugs, eyeing me. “Could be good for something.”

I snort. Like what?

He walks past me to the entrance of the alley, giving my shoulder a bump as he passes. “You’ll see.”

We stroll past a few empty shopfronts, some boarded up, others protected by a thick metal gate, when Tyler stops me with a hand to my chest. It lingers there for longer than is strictly necessary, and it leaves me feeling dizzier than it should.

“Here,” he says, gesturing to the shop next to us. It’s one of those mass coffee shop chains, complete with the ever-present green logo. Through the dark of the windows, I can see the outlines of coffee machines and cash registers.

I raise an eyebrow. Can you guarantee we won’t get arrested?

He smirks. “I can guarantee _I_ won’t get arrested.”

I sigh. I don’t want to encourage him, but his sharp smile is ever-too inviting, and that hand on my chest earlier has me thinking of other things.

I see his hand start to move out of the corner of my eye, and I swat it away. 

Don’t start getting any ideas, I scold.

He puts his hand to his own chest in mock-surprise. The picture of innocence. Against my better judgment, or what little is left, I give his shoulder a shove of my own. 

C’mon, I say. Let’s vandalize this before I change my mind.

He gives me one of his winning grins – the kind that makes my heart twinge painfully in my chest – before he takes a swing at the logo printed on the window. 

The window cracks in a nice spider web, but doesn’t quite splinter. Not one to be outdone, I gesture for him to give me a boost up.

He complies, throwing the bat down and holding out his hands. Once I’m up, I take a few swings at the logo above the shop’s door. Most of the lights in the sign flicker out, but the large “S” remains in a perpetual flickering state.

I hop back down to the ground, giving a small bow. Tyler nods, somewhat impressed, before taking up his bat and going for another bash at the window.

This time, the window caves in, and an alarm immediately begins piercing the night. Without thinking, I grab his empty hand and start running back to the apartment. I can hear his footsteps thudding behind mine, and for the first time in a while, I remember why I loved fighting.

As we pass the alleyway we entered before, we chuck our chosen weapons as close to the dumpster as we can get them and keep running. My grip on his hand is a vice, and based on the way he’s holding me back, I don’t think he wants to let go, either.

We slam into the apartment building and sprint up the steps, taking them two at a time, before we reach my door. I scramble to find my key with one hand and manage to unlock it. We throw ourselves inside and Tyler shuts the door behind him.

We stand there for a moment, breathing heavily and grinning like demons at one another. I notice that our hands are still locked together and I take advantage, pulling him closer. My free hand draws its way up his neck to his face, and he meets me halfway. Our breath mingles, and he tastes like soap and night air.

He pulls back for a moment, asking me with an incline of his head, and of course I comply, pulling him backwards with me. 

We spend the night in our usual fashion, and the next morning, I awake to a weight on my chest and police sirens in the distance. I card my hand through his hair and sigh, eyes drifting closed.

The image of a white room, almost blinding, enters my mind, and I wonder if that’s what heaven would be like. I glance down at the arm around my waist, the tan chest pressed to mine, the flickering eyelids.

If that’s what heaven is, then I want nothing to do with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note: I have nothing against coffee shops or any particular coffee shop chain. Thanks!


End file.
